Xerxes:
Then bid them flow, bid the wild measures
flow
Hollow, unmusical, the notes of grief;
They suit my fortune, and dejected state.
Chorus:
Yes, at thy royal bidding shall the strain
Pour the deep sorrows of my soul;
The suff'rings of my bleeding country plain,
And bid the mournful measures roll.
Again the voice of wild despair
With thrilling shrieks shall pierce the air;
For high the god of war his flaming crest
Raised, with the fleet of Greece surrounded,
The haughty arms of Greece with conquest bless'd,
And Persia's wither'd force confounded,
Dash'd on the dreary beach her heroes slain,
Or whelm'd them in the darken'd main.
Xerxes:
To swell thy griefs ask ev'ry circumstance.
Chorus:
Where are thy valiant friends, thy chieftains
where?
Pharnaces, Susas, and the might
Of Pelagon, and Dotamas? The spear
Of Agabates bold in fight?
Psammis in mailed cuirass dress'd,
And Susiscanes' glitt'ring crest?
Studies
